


Thy Eternal Summer - Elrond

by DominaNocte



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Age Difference, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Minstrels and music, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 18:04:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20178466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DominaNocte/pseuds/DominaNocte
Summary: Thy Eternal Summer by Evandar from Elrond's pow, instead of Maglor's.Maedhros and Maglor are visiting Thingol's realm, leading to the meeting between Elrond and Maglor.





	Thy Eternal Summer - Elrond

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Evandar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evandar/gifts).

Preparations for the coming feast was intense and Elrond had been looking forward to it being over for a long time now. The Feanorian party would include sons of Feanor, as the King could not leave his realm for so long a time. They were set to arrive any moment and the last rushed decorations and adjustments were being made.

Thankfully, grandmother Melian had only required he and Elros be at the first feast. Elros was much too energetic to be courtly several days in a row. Elrond found himself more intrigued by their soon-to-be guests, they were some of the oldest elves in existence without being created by Illuvatar.

Finally it’s time as they get news of the congregation of elves approaching, their coat of arms proclaiming them to be of the house of Fëanor. Elrond bussies himself with making sure Elros hasn’t wrinkled his robes beyond hope and tugging him into their place beside the throne.

The Feanorians are announced, Maedhros Feanorian, the firstborn of King Fëanor is tall with red hair. A striking figure with the smooth walk of a warrior. But Elrond barely has time to take him in before his eyes catch on the second elf. 

Maglor Feanorian is breathtaking.

Elrond feels his breath catch and his right hand momentarily tightens on Elros’ as Elrond takes in the finely cheiseled face, the hair and the posture of the elf. The eyes that seem lit with an inner fire catch Elrond’s and he feels himself blush. 

Elrond knows he should look away, but it seems impossible, caught in the eyes of his elder Elrond finds he can barely think, much less act, appropriately. The elder Feanorian is speaking with Thinkgol, his voice smooth and sure, but Elrond would not be able to repeat a single word if asked later. 

At his side Elros is close to pouting, but Elrond dares not let up on his grip, least he do something undignified like throwing himself at Prince Maglor. The image of the prince standing over him as Elrond kneels like a thrall flashes in his mind and Elrond banishes it to the reassesses of his mind, but feels his blush intensify all the same.

Maglor is smiling.

**

Elros teases him something fierce after, when Elrond is still flushed red and his entire body feels like it’s tingling. Grandmother only sends him a knowing look and raises an eyebrow when she walks passed them, but at least she leaves him in peace. 

The same can not be said for everyone else. 

Suddenly every conversion somehow mentions Maedhros and Maglor, every rumour of their skills in battle, of their noble deeds, their care for their people. How Maglor is probably the most accomplished bard ever among the elves…

It goes on and on, and with every little word Elrond finds himself more and more smitten, yet there is a gnawing feeling of unease growing at the same time. Why would someone like that want anything to do with Elrond? Elrond must seem like a child to the Feanorians, too young to be considered a good conversation partner, unaccomplished, and naïve. 

Elros notices, because of course he does, and tries to help. Yet there is little that can assuage the worry and despair slowly growing in Elrond. It grows even worse when Elrond finds he can’t locate the Prince. He is around for negotiations, where Elrond and his brother are considered too young to even listen, then disappears right away after. 

It is maddening, yet Elrond can’t stop looking for the elf, wanting desperately to prove himself- something. Elrond isn’t entirely sure what he want’s to prove, but he knows he needs to be around and actually speak to the Prince if Elrond is to have any chance to at all. 

**

The worry Elrond has been carrying around changes abruptly to another kind of worry at the banquet the next evening. Everyone is having a good time, but Elrond makes note of how Prince Maglor arrives late, edging onto rudely so. 

The prince looks pale and worn as well, even if he is clearly trying to keep a pleasant façade up. The worry grows into quiet alarm when the prince eats no more than a single bread roll which he nibbles on. Then the Prince looks over at Elrond’s side of the table before looking away just as quickly. The bred is put down, barely touched, as the elf takes his goblet to mingle with the other politicians. 

**

The next day dawn with heavy clouds and sheets of rain falling from the dark skies. Elrond tries looking for the Prince again, but finds to his consternation that only the elder Prince had participated in the day’s negotiations, pleading a headache for his brother. 

The worry is a clawing thing in his chest by the evening, a thorn poking at every thought, when the elf doesn’t appear at dinner. The harpers are some of the most dedicated and accomplished in their art, but Elrond can barely hear it over the sound of his heartbeat when Melian suggests Elrond check on Prince Maglor to Maedheros. 

The older prince gazes at Elrond for a moment before nodding and accepting gracefully. From there the two turn the conversation to other matters, but Elrond pays them no heed. In the corner of his vision he sees Elros shaking his head at him when Elrond rushes by. Yet it is all he can do not to run towards the dignitaries’ rooms. 

Pausing outside the Prince’s rooms Elrond takes a deep breath, trying to still his shaking hands by pressing them to the cool wood and to calm his rushing heart. The prince… Elrond clenches his eyes shut. The Prince is on the other side, all he has to do is open the door and take a few steps and he’ll be beside the noble figure once more. 

Alone.

In his bedchambers.

Heat burns his ears at the thought of what else might happen in a bed chamber. Gasping for air Elrond admonishes himself that the Prince is ill, and more than that, the prince is probably too far out of Elrond’s reach to even consider- Even if Elrond is more than willing to-  
The Prince is ill, Elrond repeats to himself. Ill and perhaps in need of help. One more deep breath and Elrond pushes the door open. It gives easily, the hinges making nary a sound.

The room beyond the threshold is dark and cold. Elrond can feel the draft from an open window. Frowning a little Elrond steps quietly inside, letting the light from the corridor light his way. 

He finds the first of the candelabras, lighting the candles with a quiet whisper. The warm light falls across the room, draping across the figure sitting by the open window and reflecting in gleaming dark hair. 

Just as Elrond is lighting the last candle along the wall the Prince turns to look at him and Elrond freezes. His breath catches in his throat again at having that magnificent elf’s focus. Clad in somewhat loose robes Elrond catches sight of more skin than he’d ever imagined he’d see. Nothing improper, but the sight still makes him burn. Then the Prince closes his eyes and turns away. Desperate to have those eyes back on himself Elrond all but squeaks as he rushes to speak. 

“Forgive the intrusion, Prince Maglor. Your brother bade me check on you.” Elrond’s heart is thundering, his pulse as quick as if he’d been running all day instead of feasting. The name tastes wonderfully on his tongue and Elrond can’t help imagining speaking it again and again, but- “I have some skill in healing, Lord, if your headache is troubling you.” But Elrond’s wants isn’t important at the moment, making sure the Prince is well is.

“Headache.” It’s one word, but the powerful timbre has Elrond trembling all the same. Praying his blush isn’t too prevalent, Elrond turns his eyes to other things in the room. His eyes catches on the harp, a beautifully crafted instrument gleaming in the candle light, but his gaze also sees the plate of food left untouched among parchment. 

And all of a sudden Elrond isn’t blushing anymore. The worry he’s feeling is one he’d have for any of his patients. The plate is clearly from early in the day and there is no sign of anything else having been eaten in the room. Elrond remembers with growing worry the Prince’s lack of appetite the night before. Perhaps it’s something worse than a headache, an elf might be able to go a long time without eating, but to go without for more than a day when there is no need to is troubling. 

Then the Prince stands and Elrond sees the elf sway a little as if he has trouble keeping his balance. Rushing forward Elrond grasps the elder’s arm, holding him steady. In the back of his mind he notes the muscles under his hand, the warmth, but it is distant. Mostly Elrond focuses on the way the Prince straightens, broad shoulders squaring a little and the elf finding his balance again. 

“I-” Elrond watches as the elf is clearly searching for words a short moment, taking the chance to look him over again before the Prince continues. “Forgive my brother, for he has wasted your time. My ailment is a temporary thing.”

The elf doesn’t sound like he’s lying, and Elrond finds himself relaxing a little, despite himself.

“Be that as it may, I would not see you suffer.” Even if Elrond could only help momentarily, it’s better than watching someone so great brought low. The Prince’s glowing eyes are so close, Elrond can see every fleck of colour in them. If Elrond leaned even a little closer he would be able to feel the Prince’s breath on his skin. The bulk of the older elf is towering over Elrond’s slight build, yet he allows himself to be tugged along by the arm. Following easily where Elrond directs him. The feeling of trust is heady, making Elrond have to focus on going through everything that could lead to the symptoms Prince Maglor has displayed to keep from shivering with want or letting his imagination run amok. 

**

Putting the candle down on an empty table Elrond turns to the older elf. Sitting a little stiffly as Elrond tries to see it there is anything he has missed. Focusing on only the task at hand Elrond falls deeper into his role as Healer.

“Your symptoms began yesterday, did they not?” Elrond asks as he moves closer. The elf didn’t look ill the first day the feanorians arrived, but it is always good to have the facts straight. He continues. “You were only very briefly at dinner. May I?” Prince Maglor nods again and Elrond forces himself to focus only on his task and not to linger as he touches the other’s skin.

The elder’s pulse is uneven, which is a little worrying, but before Elrond can ask the Prince speaks. 

“Before then.” Were this any other situation Elrond would wish to never hear anything but Prince Maglor’s voice, as it is, Elrond lets himself frown as his worry picks up a little.

“You do not trust our healers, Lord?” Yet the other immediately shakes his head.

“More that I do not seek to bother them with trivial matters.” The elf pauses before insisting once more. “This is a fleeting thing.”

“So you have said, yet it has lasted more than a day.” Elrond counters. “You are unnaturally warm, my Lord, and your pulse is… Fleeting, you claim, but the elder are not prone to minor ailments.” It was somewhat worrying, but Elrond could see the elf held the same look as many other reluctant patients. He sighed. “If you will not tell me, there is little I can do to ease your suffering. Thought I would recommend you eat something, my Lord.”

“Maitimo said much the same.”

“Your brother has some wisdom then.” Elrond turns away, trying to push down the disappointment. He catches the attention of a servant and asks them to bring a light dinner. Soup, preferably. He gets a ‘yes, my lord.’ And sighs again as the servant rushes away to do his bidding. 

Turning back Elrond finds himself hesitating between the Prince and the other chair. The harp is placed upon it and Elrond would not dare touch something so personal. To his relief Prince Maglor notices his dilemma and picks up the instrument. Somehow, Elrond finds himself speaking before he knows it.

“I must confess, I had hoped to hear you play, Prince Maglor. I have heard much of your prodigious skill.” Stupid. Elrond curses himself, almost biting his tongue in an attempt to quiet himself. But it is too late, the other has already heard his selfish request. To Elrond’s surprise the Prince draws his fingers across the strings, letting the melodic sound fill the silence between them. Then the elf’s uncertainty falls away with a soft sigh and he begins to play.

Elrond has thought he knew music, his entire life he has lived with music somehow present. Yet for all the skill of the elves before, the greatness of the song, and the quality of the instruments nothing can compare to this. Elrond can feel the music. It’s like a living thing, it lives in him and he in it. 

Tears spring from his eyes and he is helpless to stop them, a mere thrall to the power of the voice singing for him. And somehow that makes it worse. It is for him, and him alone this is sung. At his request that the notes fall from the harp and the melodic voice weaves words into being.

“That time of year thou may’st in me behold  
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang  
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,  
Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.  
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day,  
As after sunset fadeth in the west  
Which by-and-by night takes away,  
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.  
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire  
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,  
As the death-bed on which it must expire  
Consum’d with that which it was nourished by -”

The song fades, unfinished, as Elrond watches the bard place his hand flat against the harp and the accords soften to silence. Elrond can tell his mouth is open, but he can’t move a muscle, still a slave to the song. The memory of the music, held perfectly in his mind as is the way of elves, yet still holds not a candle to the actual act of listening to the performance.

Then the singer continues, softly, without accompaniment, yet still as mind-blowingly entrancing as before.

“This thou perceives, which makes thy love more strong  
To love that well which thou must leave ere long. ”

Elrond has no words. Silent, he tries to compose himself, yet the words are so sweet in his mind, bolstering his heart’s longing. 

“A poor performance, I apologize.” The prince demurs, looking away. And all Elrond can say is-

“No.” the bard looks up and Elrond finds his face and ears growing hot once more, hurrying to find words- “Please do not- I very much enjoyed hearing you sing.” It feels to shallow, but he finds no better words. 

The older elf is lovely, regal and noble, and all Elrond wants to do is bask in his precence. Elrond stays to dine with the other, but finds no excuse after to linger. He drives Elros nuts as he hums the tune of the song over and over, ceaselessly. 

**

Elrond wakes early and breaks his feast just after dawn, but he stays at the table. Excusing it as talking with different people, with being attentive, until finally Maedhros and Maglor arrive. The older of the two seem to be delivering a light scolding to the younger brother, but Elrond only cares for how much better Prince Maglor seems. The singer is even smiling faintly as he endures the lecture and Elrond can’t help himself from smiling back and humming again. 

By his side Elros throws up his hands and stalks off, finally fed up with Elrond’s refusal to change his tune.  
Which makes thy love more strong, indeed. Perhaps he has a chance yet.

**  
So. Uhhh… yeah, usually I don’t do this (put my stuff on the net), but this is my attempt at Elrond’s pow in “Thy eternal summer” by Evandar. All dialogue is from their fic. 

I…hope this doen’t offend anyone? I just needed to write it.

I’d love criticism, good and bad, as well as other comments. Feel free to leave an opinion!


End file.
